18+ "Please. Please. Please. I almost collide with the back bumper of a Chevy Silverado. I drop to my knees and look up. There’s a dark figure coming around the side of the vehicle. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t see straight. My blood is pumping, my mind racing.
“What’s going on?” I hear a man ask."
Welcome to the Devil’s Den, a Texas strip club where the air is heavy with desire—and sometimes dreams come true.
Ever since her mother kicked her out, twenty-year-old Robyn Gonzalez has been working the poles at the Devil’s Den, saving up to finish college and travel the world. With only her wits and her gorgeous body to rely on, Robyn has learned to be independent—fiercely independent. She’s never been tempted to let a man distract her from her dreams . . . until she meets the dead-sexy Garrick Dempsey.
The club’s new head of security, Garrick had walked away from a career as a mechanical engineer to return to his roots in Corpus Christi. He hadn’t planned on getting to know someone like Robyn, with her sinfully sweet combination of vulnerability and strength, at the Devil’s Den. She acts tough, but only because she’s been hurt. Soon Garrick knows he will do anything to win Robyn’s trust. And if that means surrendering to the red-hot chemistry between them, all the better.
EXCERPT
The DJ booth is about twenty-five feet from the T-shaped main stage, which connects to a narrow catwalk that wraps around the back. There are half a dozen big screens situated around the club and various neon beer signs hanging on the paneled walls. Sports memorabilia, mostly autographed photographs of Dallas Cowboys who have visited the club, are proudly showcased over the main bar. Pool tables and the pickup are in an adjoining room with a second bar. Six high-top tables and a sofa and love seat are off to the side so dancers and customers can hold intimate conversations while they wait for a pool table to open up. Of course, that’s where the dirtiest table dances take place—bouncers tend to overlook that area most, focusing on the main room and VIP. That’s why I like this bar. Everything is visible from anywhere.
I wave. Macey smiles. I go to the hostess booth and Mama Beth greets me with genuine concern.
“Did you check out with the DJ?” she asks, leaning in close to be heard over the blare of Metallica.
“I didn’t.”
She eyes me sympathetically, then says, “I saw what happened, sweetheart. You’ve got to learn to get over it. Men are beasts in any setting.”
She always means well, but trying to minimize the effects of behavior that’s socially repugnant even for a strip bar upsets me right now. The day I give these guys a free pass is the day I give up all hope for humanity. Somewhere, men still possess a shred of honor. They don’t grab handfuls of ass or whisper filthy things unfit for a prostitute to hear. I throw down thirty dollars and stuff an extra ten in Mama’s shirt pocket.
“Thanks, Mama,” I say. “I’ll see you Friday.” I head for the door.
“Wait,” she calls.
I don’t look back. The last person I want escorting me outside is Craig. My car is parked pretty close. I walk briskly to the 1976 Camaro that I adore. I unlock the door, climb in, jam the key, and rev the engine. My baby needs a paint job, but the engine purrs. I check my rearview mirror before backing out. I do a double take. Craig blocks my path. His arms are folded defiantly over his broad chest. I know he isn’t going to budge until I talk to him. Damn him. I climb out, leaving the engine running for quick escape. The September night air is humid, and I wipe a drop of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
“You can’t keep doing this, Robyn,” Craig scolds.
“Doing what?”
He sighs. The man doesn’t understand the word no. One date a few months ago doesn’t mean I’ve made a lifelong commitment. If his brains matched his brawn, I might have tried harder. His IQ doesn’t even meet Neanderthal standards. However, his biggest problem is keeping his dick in his pants. That killed any chance he had with me, and he resents me for it.
“Come back inside and finish your shift.”
I snort, meeting his heated gaze. “Go away.”
He yanks me close. “We’re not finished, Robyn, not by a long shot.”
“We never started.”
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About the author:
Raised in Corpus Christi, Texas, Violetta Rand spent her childhood reading, writing, and playing soccer. After meeting her husband in New England, they moved to Alaska where she studied environmental science and policy as an undergraduate before attending graduate school. Violetta then spent nearly a decade working as an environmental scientist, specializing in soil and water contamination and environmental assessments.
Violetta still lives in Anchorage, Alaska and spends her days writing evocative New Adult romance and historical romance. When she’s not reading, writing, or editing, she enjoys time with her husband, pets, and friends. In her free time, she loves to hike, fish, and ride motorcycles and 4-wheelers.
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